


And He Who Breathes Out Lies Will Perish

by Aviena



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Bible, Cunnilingus, Deacon come on just admit that you love her, F/M, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5938768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviena/pseuds/Aviena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some good old fashioned HQ sex with some biblekink. Kmeme prompt also requested an explanation for Deacon's codename.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And He Who Breathes Out Lies Will Perish

A deacon proclaims the gospel, but he can’t hear confession. He’s _more_ than happy to tell you what to do – but if you’re looking for absolution, you’re shit out of luck. He’s not quite a priest; not quite a layman. He’ll talk the talk, but don’t hold your breath waiting for him to walk the walk. _Not_ going to happen.

And that’s Deacon in a nutshell, really. He knows it, just like he knows the mystery meat Drummer Boy hauls in every Tuesday is almost certainly mole rat, and that the world’s supply of nuka cola is eventually going to run dry. It’s not a fun truth, and if someone were to ask him about it he’d deny it until he was blue in the face and the poor bastard was holding six different recall codes. But he chose the codename very deliberately. It’s Deacon’s recognition of his nature. It’s his plausible deniability. He’s a liar, not an idiot.

It’s a reminder, as well. A reminder that the cause he’s pushing this time is a noble one. A sacred one. Not that Deacon is likely to forget that.

He could have told Charmer all this when she asked him about his codename, alone on a trip back to HQ. But lying was just so much easier. Charmer had already peeled back so many layers of Deacon’s skin that he was sure he was about to start bleeding - so he’d smothered that traitorous little flirtation with honesty, waggled his eyebrows and squeezed Charmer’s ass instead.

“I punish sinners, sugar. Want me to show you?”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “I bet you exorcise demons too, hmm?”

“Well, I’ve been told I turn heads…”

Charmer raised an eyebrow. “I’ll bet. You know why I chose _my_ codename?”

“If you tell me it’s because you’re so charming, I think we’re going to have to walk home separately.”

“It’s because I’m so…” She paused, grinning at him, waiting to see if he’d keep his word. This kind of situation was where Deacon’s nature really let him down. He wasn’t going to be to walking away any time soon. “…Magical.”

Deacon shook his head in exasperation, hiding the smile that always tried tugging at his lips when Charmer was around. Get a grip, he told himself - that wasn’t even _funny_. “Make sure to tell that one to Glory. I want to see if she tries to punch you.”

She snorted a laugh, and a grin snuck across Deacon’s lips before he could get a hold of it. “Now that I think about it, her name’s pretty biblical too. Did you guys have a brainstorming sesh or something?”

“Nope. I’m in the process of filing a claim of intellectual property theft right now.” He went to nudge her with his elbow, but his arm got ideas of its own and snaked around her waist instead. “Say, sugar, you could probably help me with that.”

“No thanks.” She leaned into his shoulder as they walked. Deacon wouldn’t have called it comfortable, but it still felt _nice_. “I don’t fancy being mowed down by that minigun.”

Deacon hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe don’t tell her the magic joke then.”

Charmer chuckled. Never once breaking stride, she swiftly kissed his lips before turning her gaze back to the road. Deacon tried not to look too stunned; too much like a fish out of water – but _damn_ , he wasn’t used to this. 

Back at HQ that evening, Charmer _did_ tell Glory the joke. The air smelled of smoke, damp mattresses and grave dirt. It had the slight tang of battery acid as well, though Deacon had chosen to sit as far from Tom’s workbench as possible. Everyone was on edge.

Ticon went dark today. 

It wasn’t like they hadn’t lost safehouses before. Hell, sometimes it seemed the only place less safe than a Railroad safehouse was a deathclaw nest. But this was different. Usually, you made up for a lost safehouse by setting up another. You buried your dead and found some other poor, altruistic sucker to risk his life for the cause instead. But Deacon had been running the numbers in his head, just like Dez, Carrington, Glory, and all the rest of them. Fact was, the Railroad was in the red. _Deep_ in the red.

But, true to form, Charmer was doing her best to deny the oppressive atmosphere. “It’s because I’m so _magical_.” Deacon wasn’t sure she even intended for him to hear her conversation, because she was halfway across the room from him. Fortunately, Glory didn’t have her minigun handy.

“Jesus, agent,” the synth groaned. Deacon hid a smile and busied himself with relacing one of his shoes, pretending that he wasn’t paying attention. “You’ve _got_ to stop spending so much time with Deacon.” He threw an oh-so-casual glance in their direction to find Charmer giving him the thumbs up. Glory shook her head, eyes turned to heaven, but the corner of her mouth quirked upwards.

Deacon and Charmer curled up that evening on Deacon’s mattress, more or less hidden from the rest of the team by a coffin-turned-desk. The smell of death and damp was almost overwhelming down there, but Charmer insisted. Nothing was ever private in HQ. Not really. So when Charmer pressed her body flat along the curve of his back and snuck one hand under his shirt, Deacon limited his reaction to turning his head for the kiss that was undoubtedly coming.

But she didn’t kiss him. She whispered in his ear instead. “You’re a liar.”

“What else is new?”

“I’m just saying we’re a good match.” Her voice, always warm, had turned low and scorching. “We’ve got a good thing going here. ‘Cause you’re a liar.” Her finger started tracing lazy circles above his hipbone. “And I’m a sinner.”

Oh yeah. He saw where this was going.

He grinned into the darkness. Quite suddenly he didn’t give a shit about the slumbering agents scattered about the sepulchre, and he definitely didn’t care about privacy. He wriggled around to lie facing her, hooked his thumb inside her waistband. “You can say that again.”

She just blinked at him, brow furrowing in bemusement – then it clicked, and her frown turned into a smirk. “I’m a sinner,” she purred.

Oh yeah. This was gonna be good. He hummed into the curve of her neck to hide just how smug his smile was, kissed that spot that made her lean into his mouth and sigh in delight. “That’s a damn shame, sugar. A damn shame.”

“Why’s that?” Her breathing was uneven already. Deacon could lie in bed with her like this until the day he died, and he would still amazed by just how much she wanted him. _Him_. It was a little frightening, really. Poor girl didn’t know what she’d gotten herself into.

“Well you see, honey...” He slid down the zip on her jeans and dragged his thumb down slowly over her hip, relishing the way she shivered as the denim slipped past the tops of her thighs. Her pulse fluttered beneath his lips, staccato percussion almost as fast as his own heartbeat. She couldn’t know just how badly he needed her. “Sinners have to be punished.”

She drew a shuddering breath, kicked her jeans down over her ankles. She glanced around somewhat nervously, acutely aware that they weren’t alone, then raised an eyebrow coyly. “And then granted salvation?”

He couldn’t hide the grin this time. “Hard to know.” He covered her lips with his, greedy, intense, demanding, and she opened to him immediately, throwing one long smooth leg over his hip. No one else could make fully-clothed kissing so _hot_ \- the taste of her turned him upside down, the graze of her tongue across his bottom lip turned him inside out. He couldn’t seem to touch enough of her, no matter where his hands went. She moaned softly, twisting the front of his t-shirt savagely.

Her whisper sent electricity dancing down his spine. “My punishment, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” Deacon rocked himself forward, rolling her onto her back, pinning her to the mattress with the weight of his body. Her eyes were alight with mischief, somehow still dark with desire. He kissed her again, bit down gently on her lip, and her gasp gave him delicious chills. “And here you are,” he whispered, alternating his tongue and his teeth on the delicate skin over her collarbone, “sinning again. Devising wickedness, working evil upon your bed.”

He felt her surprise in the catch in her breath, the way her thigh tightened around his waist. “That wasn’t a bible quote, was it?”

“Close enough. Not a fan?”

She took him by the chin, dragged him upwards to look at her. Shit, he was glad she did: her face was flushed, her hair tucked carelessly behind one ear, and her eyes were positively _feverish_. “Are you kidding? That was fucking _hot_.”

Warmth bloomed in Deacon’s chest. Probably his cheeks, too, which was a tiny bit embarrassing. He lowered his face to her skin again, moving down to mouth the tops of her breasts through her shirt. “Be sure of this: the wicked will not go unpunished.”

“ _Fuck_ , Dee. Kiss me again.”

He felt a sudden surge of wilfulness; a brief but searing flash of defiance; an overwhelming impulse to deny her, leave her whimpering with need while his mouth coaxed her nipples into hardened peaks and his fingers chased that warmth between her thighs. She felt it too. Her hips betrayed her thoughts as they rocked against the front of Deacon’s jeans, and he couldn’t bear to be so _clothed_. He wriggled himself free of his jeans and his underwear with some effort. Charmer took it upon herself to pull his shirt up over his head and fling it over the coffin with a flourish. Deacon wondered what they’d do if she’d hit somebody with it.

Laugh, probably. Then fuck. There was no way in hell they were stopping this now.

Charmer shrugged her own shirt off and tossed it carelessly aside. The bra came off a moment later. Eagerly. She lay there almost still for a moment, arms over her head and dangling off the edge of the mattress, irises nearly hidden by lashes that had always seemed too sexy to be real. Deacon had tried to tug them off once, just to be sure. It didn’t go well. 

“What are you waiting for?” she whispered. Her breath was warm and heavy, like the wine she kept stashed at the Red Rocket. Her lips were a fruity red, aged to perfection by the cryo-pod that saved Deacon’s life. He could almost taste the grapes when he kissed her. There was definitely some light-headedness, once he was a few kisses deep; more than a little buzzing in his fingertips. He had a feeling this was something addictol couldn’t fix.

He took a deep breath, let it mingle with the wine. “Haughty eyes,” he whispered. Charmer shivered beneath him, electric frissons running from top to toe. “A lying tongue.” She smirked at that, raised an eyebrow; went rigid, open-mouthed in pleasure, when he slipped a finger inside her and began to stroke. “Hands that join with a wicked man.”

Charmer chuckled breathlessly, clung to his bicep with white-knuckled fingers. “Thought you were a deacon.”

If grins could be wicked, Deacon was sure his was. “Sure, sugar. I’ll pray your soul is delivered.” His mouth went back to her breasts, mostly because he couldn’t stay away from them. “Delivered from lying lips. From a deceitful tongue.” She seemed to enjoy the way that tongue flicked across her swollen nipple, if the way she dragged a hand through her hair was anything to go on. She swore under her breath and planted the other hand on the top of his head, pushing him downwards. He gave her breast a playful nip: too hard to be called a graze, too gentle to be a bite. Oh, how she _moaned_.

“Don’t want deliverance,” he heard her mutter.

“Then what do you want?” He already knew the answer, sure. But that was half the fun.

“I want your lying tongue to make me come.”

Deacon just liked to hear her say it. He chuckled into the mound of her breast, started kissing his way downwards. Sternum, upper abdomen, belly button, hip bone. He paused at the junction of her thighs, gazing up along the length of her body. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wild like a summer storm.

“Then I guess the mouth of the wicked will be open against you.”

She started to giggle at him again, but it was choked off immediately when he tasted her. Slowly. Intently. Deacon wasn’t one to brag – though he was happy to make an exception when it came to bragging on Charmer’s behalf – but he was pretty good with his tongue. Pretty _damn_ good. Charmer sighed and panted beneath his mouth, her palms hot and trembling on the back of his neck. She’d roll her eyes if he told her how good she tasted. She’d call him a liar. But when he lay here like this, head between her thighs, ribs scraping against the end of the mattress, erection hard against his stomach, Deacon couldn’t have managed a lie even if he tried. Even if he wanted to.

He worked her up to it slowly; expertly, if he did say so himself, his tongue tracing increasingly tighter circles around her clit and his fingers curling inside her at an angle that turned her eyes to heaven and made her whimper keening prayers. He could see her holding in a shriek when she came, biting down on her lower lip while her back arched like the dome of a cathedral. He wanted to kiss those lips – but her sex tasted even sweeter, and he couldn’t give it up. Not for a moment. He reached up to her chin instead, ghosted his fingers along the curve of her jaw, pressed two fingers against her lips. She took him in greedily, like deliverance really was exactly what she wanted; what she needed.

Charmer muttered something unintelligible around his fingers. _Fuck_ , the sight was so hot it burned. Deacon gave her sex one last swipe and, honest to God, her eyes rolled back in her head. She’d be the death of him, eventually. He’d die for want of her, even if they did this every day. He crawled back up her body, ready for her scorching lips – but she snatched up his slick fingers first, licked them clean, fluttered those goddamn eyelashes like she knew exactly what it did to him. Hell, she _had_ to know. It was pretty hard to miss.

“If God did not spare angels when they sinned...”He hardly had to think to find the words, now. Deacon was a quick study. His _oh hell yeah, I’m religious_ cover story was a flimsy one, so he’d done the research, committed the surviving sermons to memory. Anyone that asked him about his codename got an earful of the Lord’s Prayer and enough quotes from Proverbs to drive them mad as Tinker Tom. He hadn’t expected this kind of extracurricular application, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining.

“What if I don’t want you to spare me?” 

She was breathless and beautiful; so beautiful he sometimes wondered if he’d dreamed her up. Not beautiful like the Nuka Cola girl, and not like the women in the pre-war spank mags Deacon found in a chem den that one time. Nah, nothing like that. She was beautiful like stained glass: the kind that wore just enough dust and dirt to turn the light shimmery, scatter it across the floor in hazy loops of radiance. She had sharp edges: the kind that would leave you bleeding on the pavement. But she had soft ones, too, and those were enough to break Deacon apart piece by piece, glue him perfectly back together, and send shimmery coloured light shining through the cracks. 

“Mmm. You’re so hard to say no to. “

Charmer laughed softly. She sounded warm, sated, relaxed. Totally at odds with the intent, urgent pressure with which she suddenly gripped his cock. Deacon groaned loudly.

Somewhere in the musty darkness, someone grumbled irritably. Charmer was seized by a fit of silent, mortified laughter. She buried her face in Deacon’s sweaty shoulder and shook with mirth. Deacon had to squeeze his eyes shut, because her grip didn’t fail at all. Her shaking slowly ebbed, and she began to stroke him. Slowly, at first, drawing from him torturous gasp after strangled sigh, and Deacon let his head fall forward, forehead pressed to hers. It was partly for support, partly because being meshed with her like this made everything seem so much _brighter_ ; more intense, like she’d turned the voltage up to max and his neurons were exploding in an electric storm. Like they were a completed circuit, joined at the brow and at the hip; by skin and teeth and hard, aching need.

Speaking at that moment was the most difficult thing Deacon had ever done. “Place me like a seal over your heart, for love is - _ah!_ \- love is as strong as death.” Charmer’s eyes widened slightly in surprise – then she kissed him, _deeply_ , and the storm became a maelstrom. “It burns like blazing fire,” he gasped when she released his lips. “Like a mighty flame.”

Charmer pressed her lips to the base of his jaw. Her breath came hot and fast against his skin. He could feel her heart hammering against his naked chest. “I want you inside me,” she whispered. “Now.”

He snatched up her hands immediately, grinning so tightly it almost hurt. He missed the warm pressure of her palm as soon as it was gone, but she bucked her hips upward to meet him and Deacon could swear he saw stars. She gasped softly when he pinned her hands over her head, swung one leg around his hips to try to pull him in – but he made her wait.

“The wicked are like the tossing sea,” Deacon panted. He leaned his forehead against hers again, and Charmer whined softly. Her lips were close enough to be devoured, her body wound so tight he could feel her quivering. “For they cannot be quiet.”

“I can be quiet,” she breathed.

“Let’s find out.”

She almost cried out when he entered her, almost failed the challenge before they’d even started. He could see it in the way she pressed her lips together, the way she screwed her eyes shut, the way her mouth seemed to come open despite her best efforts as Deacon delved deeper and deeper inside her. Once he was completely hilted in her sex, Deacon paused. He kissed her sweet, trembling lips, gently stroked the delicate wrist pinned beside her head. He drew back, watched her eyes flutter open again. She was so impossibly _impossible_.

“And there’s salvation in no one else,” Deacon whispered. _No other name under heaven by which I can be saved._

He thrust back into her, and she let loose a heady, choked off moan; lost their little game. It didn’t matter. Deacon lost himself in _her_ : the sound of the breathy gasps that followed, the grasping warmth of her sex, the way she wriggled around beneath him and canted her hips to take him deeper. How she twisted her wrists to cling to his hand, helpless to resist the delicious little shudders that slowly overtook her. Deacon started slow, but pleasure soon got the best of him. His pace grew faster, more erratic. Charmer craned her neck to kiss him again, and Deacon was a goner.

He felt her walls clenching around him, draining him of everything he had, and even though his mind was a fog of warm white clouds and distant coloured lights, Deacon had the presence of mind to tease her bottom lip between his teeth. Charmer whimpered again, tugged against his grip, and Deacon rolled off her reluctantly. Her hands went for his immediately. She guided one to her hip and clutched the other tightly, stroking his knuckles with fingers that still faintly trembled.

“I don’t know much about the bible,” she whispered, like they hadn’t just had outrageously hot sex. Like they’d spent the evening comparing literary scorecards.

“Guess _that’s_ why you’re named Charmer. Study up and maybe we’ll let you pick a cooler codename.” 

She snorted softly, but the look she gave him was paralysing. Deacon was sorry he’d brought up codenames again. That look was too knowing. Too forgiving. It made him think all the joking about magic and miniguns and legal motions was as much of a cover as his quotations; made him certain she understood him far better than she let on.

Time for a distraction. “She is more precious than rubies; nothing you desire can compare with her.”

Charmer smirked. “Who? You’re not on about Glory again are you?”

“If you’re going to be like that, go find your own mattress.”

Her laugh was quiet and tinkling; relaxed and joyful. But she still wore that look. She snuggled in under his arm, spread her hand across his stomach. “I think I’ll stay right here.”

“I can live with that. I’ll kick you off if you start snoring, though.” Deacon could feel her smiling into his ribs.

“Liar.”


End file.
